“Darn right, I do.” Jaz nodded, and her hair wobbled in an attempt to escape from the bun on top of her head. “Reese couldn’t have killed America.”
Her assistant gasped. “Is that what you think?” Her hands clasped her chest. “I would never! I don’t even know America!”
“She’s not accusing anyone here.” Henry looked from Reese to Jaz to me. “Right, Paisley?”
“Right. Of course.” Though I had some things to think about. Something was tugging at my consciousness, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I was probably overwhelmed with all the peppermint oil and sitar. “Jaz, you were going to find a different place to stay, I believe?”
“There aren’t any rooms to be had,” Reese said.
Jaz smiled. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
Noble Henry held up a hand in the universal sign of sacrificial volunteering. “I have a spare bedroom.”
“This isn’t the Holiday Inn,” I said. “I need space and all this stuff out so—”
The doorbell clanged, interrupting my fit.
When heavy knocking followed, Reese rushed to the door and pressed her eye to the peephole. “It’s Little Tee Pee.”
“Don’t open that, Reese!” Jaz sat up, taking the sheet with her. “He’s not welcome here.”
“Again, this is my house.” I sounded like I was seconds away from stomping my foot. “I’ll say who’s welcome and who’s not.”
Jaz shooed away the massage therapist and threw on a fluffy robe, somehow exposing no fleshy bits to Henry. “Tee Pee could have killed America.”
“With his bad music?” I walked to the door.
Jaz threw up her hands. “What if Tee Pee and America were having a fling?”
I paused in the entry. “Why don’t you just ask him about it?”
“Already did. Why do you think we got in a big fight and I’m here?”
“Because I’m so very lucky?”
“Tee Pee’s up to something shady, Paisley. I got eyes on that boy, and ever since we got here, he ducks out all the time. He claims he’s sightseeing, but every night? Where’s he going?”
Probably the local bars, ordering a drink called the “My Girlfriend’s a Shrew.”
“His dad’s a doctor,” Jaz said as the doorbell rang again. “Who’s to say Daddy didn’t give Tee Pee the meds?”
If Daddy was going to give him something, too bad it hadn’t been a sound IQ. But the fact that his dad was a doctor was good information I’d be passing on to the police.
Cracking open the door, I gave a curt nod to the security guard then stepped outside. “She doesn’t want to see you, Tee Pee. I’m sorry.”
He hung his head, a man weighed by defeat. Or was it guilt? “Can you tell her I love her?”
“I’d really rather not. They’ve got this cool thing called texting. You should try it.” My eyes caught movement from across the street, where a pack of paparazzi waited like hungry wolves. “I’m sorry, Tee Pee, but you should probably go.”
“She thinks I cheated on her with America, but I didn’t. I would never do that to Jaz.”
“Okay.” I patted his shoulder. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“I miss her.”
“If only I could loan her to you.”
“I love you, Jaz!” he yelled.
“My neighborhood watch is pretty picky about rap stars shouting on porches before noon.”
“I’m very sorry.”
I stepped outside and joined him. “Jaz says you’ve barely been around since you got here.”
Tee Pee shot a glance over his shoulder, where a red sedan Uber idled. “I . . I’ve been busy. I have a career to tend to as well.”
“How well did you know America?”
“Hardly knew her.”
He answered that a bit too quickly. “You knew her enough to get in a fight with her on the plane ride to Sugar Creek.”
“I think you’re mistaken.” Tee Pee shoved on his sunglasses. “Look, I need to go, little dude. Just let Jaz know I’m here for her.”
“Tee Pee, America told you your camping days were over. What did that mean?”
He backed off the porch. “I really don’t know. I—”
“She said she was going to the police.”
“America was paranoid—one of her many faults. That and not having near the talent of my Jaz.”
“Why would she think you were engaging in illegal activity?”
Tee Pee yanked car keys from the pocket of his saggy shorts. “I can’t imagine. I gotta run. Tell Jaz I’ll call.”
“Tee Pee, wait!” But he ran to his rental car, hopped in, and drove away.
“That was strange,” Henry said as he stepped outside. “Probably the order of the day for that guy.”
“Maybe.” I watched the small sedan disappear. “But Tee Pee’s hiding something—badly.”
America apparently hadn’t liked the rapper.
And it was time to find out why.
Chapter Nineteen
Two hours later, the Sugar Creek Civic Center had been transformed into a New York fashion runway, and I took my first comfortable breath of the day. My team, along with a decorating consultant, had knocked it out of the park, providing a catwalk, a constant flash of cameras, techno music, and even a woman in the front row in dark sunglasses and red wig dressed as the imposing Anna Wintour.
Jaz had shown up, though predictably fifteen minutes late. Something about aligning her chakras or some other line of fluff that barely signified.
“Thanks for helping out.” I handed Trina a bottle of water as she joined me backstage, where we waited for showtime.
She glanced down at her designer outfit. “Do you know this is considered plus-sized? I’m a size eight, and they act like they need to reinforce the runway floorboards.”
“You look fabulous.” I snapped her photo to post on social media. “Though your hat’s crooked.”
She cursed beneath her breath and adjusted the pink concoction. “It looks like a pile of feathers attacked my head. Who wears this stuff?”
“I’ll give you one guess.” I saw a familiar figure headed our way. “And here’s the queen now.”
Jaz stomped toward us in a fog of perfume and arrogance. Her hands moved in rapid motion as she chewed out her assistant. “I don’t want to respond to emails, Reese. That’s your job. Is this really that hard?”
“No, ma’am. I thought you might want to be the one to wish your dad a happy birthday.”
“And why don’t I have my list of pleasantries and compliments to take with me on stage yet? You know I don’t do well unscripted. If I make a total fool of myself, it will be all your fault. Are you hearing me? Is anything I say getting through?” Jaz snapped her fingers at a wide-eyed Reese.
The poor girl looked over her glasses at her dragon of a boss. “I sent them to your phone.”
“And where did I ask you to send them?”
“You didn’t.”
Jaz reared back as if she’d been slapped. “Are you telling me I’m wrong? That I don’t know what words came out of my own mouth?”
“No, ma’am. I just—”
“Go get me a coffee. You have two minutes.” Jaz turned her attention to her cell phone, completely dismissing Reese, who scurried away like a frightened mouse.
Trina wrenched open her water bottle. “Do you have to talk to her like that?”
One sculpted brow lifted. “Like what?”
“Like she’s barely human.”
“Whatever.” Jaz rolled her dark eyes. “I’m good to Reese. She’s lucky to have me for a boss.”
Trina snorted with laughter.
Jaz’s bracelets jangled as she advanced on Trina and planted a hand on her hip. “Do you have something to say?”
“What would be the point?”
“I invited you out here as a favor,” Jaz said. “Are you seriously going to criticize me? Just because I’m having a bad day and snapped at my assistant doesn’t
mean I’m not kind and generous the ninety percent of the time no one’s around to see it.”
“First of all,” Trina said, “I’m here as a favor to you. If you remember, you called me in a panic and begged me to participate in this week-long publicity stunt.” She swiveled to me. “Lovely and well-run as it is.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
She put her mean face back on and returned her attention to Jaz. “I’d hoped to spend some time with my old bandmates and maybe see the Jaz we knew in our early days.” She jerked her thumb toward the direction Reese had escaped. “You’re terrible to her. I thought the public humiliation from your awful viral video might’ve humbled you, but you’re still stepping on anyone and everyone, without a thought for other people’s feelings.”
“I consider others.”
“No, you don’t,” Trina shot back. “It’s you, you, you. That’s all it ever was, and still all it is. You’re rude to Reese. Rude to me. You act like Paisley should jump at your every command.”
This was getting out of hand. “Trina—”
“No, Paisley, it’s time someone stood up to her. Jaz doesn’t think of anyone but herself. She pulled the rug out from under us when she broke up the band. She didn’t give one thought for our lives or feelings.”
“Of course I did,” Jaz said.
Anger tightened Trina’s face. “Maybe just to think about how you didn’t care about us.”
“I care.”
“You couldn’t have. You announced you were leaving the band on live television like it was part of the performance. You hadn’t even told us. Do you have any idea what that did to me? To Paisley?”
“I had to think of my career,” Jaz said.
“You still don’t get it.”
“I’m through with this.” Jaz walked toward the stage.
Trina grabbed her. “I’m talking to you, Jaz, and you’re going to listen.”
“Let go of me.”
“You can’t treat people like you do and not expect someone to retaliate at some point.”
“Is that what you did—retaliate?” Jaz stared at her old friend with a hardened gaze. “Did you kill America and frame me?”
“No. And don’t turn this around. We’re talking about you. You and your selfish, spoiled, mean-girl ways. I asked you to sing one simple duet on my last album, and you wouldn’t even return my call. You agreed to mentor my little sister, and next thing I knew she’s walking your dog and cleaning your toilets.”
“We all have to start somewhere.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Trina said. “And let me remind you where you started. I’m the one who, all those years ago, told that producer about this girl in my church choir. And I’m the one who loaned you a hundred bucks for your audition outfit. And I’m the one who paid for your very first bus ride to Los Angeles.”
“So I owe you, is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying you’re a rotten person. You run over people, and you don’t care who you hurt as long as you get what you want. You don’t care that America’s dead. You don’t care that your manager lost a client because now he can go back to focusing on you.” Trina’s voice rose with building fury. “You don’t care that your assistant spends the majority of her day in tears. And you sure didn’t care about Paisley and me.” She took off her hat and threw it on the ground. “This hat is stupid, and a size eight isn’t fat!” Trina stomped away, leaving Jaz, me, and an awkwardness so thick, I could reach out and touch it.
Jaz took a few audible breaths, looking at me like she hoped I’d toss her some grace. “I assume you think I deserved that.”
I slipped my phone in my purse, then forced myself to make eye contact with my client. “How about we just do this fashion show and get our job done?”
Disappointment pulled Jaz’s lips into a grimace. “You’re still mad at me, aren’t you? Doesn’t anyone do forgiveness around here?”
So many thoughts crowded the forefront of my mind, banged against my skull, and begged for release. “I agreed to handle your festival. I’ve let you stay at my house.”
“Would you have if I hadn’t written a big check?”
I didn’t want to get into this today. It wasn’t water under the bridge; it was sewage runoff mixed with pond sludge and radioactive waste under the bridge.
But I’d waited years to say my piece. “You never told us you were sorry.”
“Sure I did.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“Well, I am.”
Clearly, she needed more work with her acting coach. “Forget it.”
“You don’t believe me?” Jaz asked.
“You’ve had years to reach out to Trina and me.”
“I figured you wouldn’t want to see or hear from me.”
“Is that really why, Jaz?”
She paused. “This whole situation here—”
“You mean the murder? The loss of America’s life? That situation?”
She nodded, and for a second, I thought I saw a glisten of a tear. “Being framed has made me realize that not everyone loves me.”
I would later reward myself with ice cream for not laughing. Instead, I silently stood there and waited for her to continue.
“Someone hates me so much, they want to see me go to prison for the rest of my life—or worse. And I’ve wracked my brain for the last five days, reviewing every single thing I might’ve done to someone, reviewing every person I could’ve possibly hurt. And you know what, Paisley?”
“You stopped counting at a thousand?”
“You joke—because that’s what you do. But apparently what I do? Is hurt people.”
“Jaz—”
“It’s true. I mean, how sad is it that when you’ve been suspected of a murder, and you need more fingers than God gave you to count the people who might’ve wanted to see you take the fall?”
She was mining for sympathy, but with me—she’d struck rock. “So where do you go from here? What do you do with that knowledge?”
“I guess I clean up my act. Give back, pay it forward, whatever it is we’re calling it these days?”
“I think we commoners just refer to it as being a decent human being.”
“You make it sound so easy.” Her smile wobbled. “You know, I envy you.”
Me? That was a joke. “I have a credit card maxed out, my car pleads for death, and my year’s rent wouldn’t cover the cost of your outfit. Who wouldn’t be eaten up with jealousy?”
“You have a home—this Sugar Creek place. These people like you. They genuinely care for you. Not for what you’ve done or because they want a selfie. They like you for you. You have your family. That crazy grandmother who can’t wait to see me on the next plane out of town. And your mother—she loves you. My mom stopped talking to me when I quit giving her a twenty-percent cut.”
Now that was just sad.
“I’ve had one failed marriage with Apollo, a string of disastrous relationships, and who does that leave me? A manager who can’t decide if he wants me, a boyfriend who’s probably using me, and an assistant who dissolves into hysterics every time she’s summoned.”
“You could take Trina’s advice and back off on Reese.”
“And maybe I will,” she said. “But just know that you’ve got it good.”
These were big words from the queen of pop. “I do. I wake up grateful every day for the life I’m living.”
“I appreciate what you’ve done for me. I hope you know that.” Jaz walked away, wearing an expensive dress and a cheap attempt at a smile. I’d spent years envying her, and now that she had it all, her world was so empty. She could keep her fame and fortune. And I’d keep my Sugar Creek.
Ten minutes later, I stood off to the side in the audience and watched the show.
Until my mother showed up.
“Paisley!”
“Mom?” She barely avoided a head-on collision with two teen girls as she advanced. “I thought you were meeting with the gover
nor.”
“I’m leaving within the hour. I was picking something up at this cute store across the street when I saw all the commotion. You didn’t tell me you were having a fashion show.”
“Actually I did.”
“Well, you might have mentioned it, but you didn’t say it was a real one.” She pointed to a woman dressed in head-to-toe black introducing her line. “That’s Macey McClendon.”
“Yep.”
“The Macey McClendon. She’s only outfitted both duchesses in the last two years.”
“And Jaz.” I returned my attention back to the show. Jaz took the mic to discuss the pieces she’d purchased from the line and how she would incorporate them into her personal and professional wardrobe. Five different models strutted onto a catwalk that jutted into the audience, as they showed off the clothes being highlighted. When Trina pranced down the runway, the crowd went wild.
“You’d look good in that knee-length skirt,” my mother said as Trina stopped to pose. “Sometimes less leg is more, don’t you think?”
I gave my mom the side-eye. “I’m five-foot-two. Less leg is all I have.”
“Oh, look at that second model’s hair.” Mom reached for my own hair and gave it a little tug. “A tapered bob looks so professional.”
My phone buzzed in my hand, and I lifted it like the savior that it was. “Excuse me. Gotta take this important call.” I quickly stepped into the hall where I could hear. “Hello, Sylvie.”
“Whacha doing?”
“Watching underfed models and listening to my mother criticize my hair and clothing choices. You?”
“Sleuthing. Can you sneak away?”
Though I’d been the brains behind the event, Alice and Layla were taking the lead. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve got intel.”
“Can’t you relay it over the phone?”
“No can do, my little sweet potato. Meet me at Sarge’s Pawn and More in ten minutes.”
I exhaled fatigue. I still had to take some prize baskets to Fox Falls, courtesy of Jaz. “What’s going on?”
“Sarge promises us a revelation worthy of any tabloid.”
“I’m on my way.”
Fanatically in Trouble Page 13